The Blue Effect (Cold War) (32 page)

Cha
pter 38

190
0, 11 JULY 1984. COMBAT TEAM BRAVO, 14/20TH KING’S HUSSARS, 22ND ARMOURED BRIGADE, 1ST ARMOURED DIVISION. HASTE, WEST GERMANY.

THE BLUE EFFECT +1 DAY

Having lost five in the last thirteen hours, what were left of the tanks of Combat Team Bravo had dispersed along the edge of the wooded area east of Haste. It was late in the day, and they were low on fuel and ammunition. Fuel bowsers had been promised, but ground-attack aircraft had hit them as the Soviet air force sought revenge for the counter-attack that came out of the blue, catching the Soviet forces completely off guard. But, until they received a resupply, it would be madness to go any further forward. They had also been promised that the US 2nd Brigade and 7th Armoured Brigade were on their way to bolster the attack that would continue the next day.

“Sir, sir.”

“What? What?” answered Alex as he jolted his body upwards, having fallen asleep slumped over the turret hatch. “Corporal Patterson…what’s up?”

“Thought you might feel better for a tea, sir.”

Captain Alex Wesley-Jones rubbed his eyes, took the hot, sweet drink and felt its positive effect within a matter of moments. His body felt drained. If he didn’t know better, he would have considered himself to be suffering from a severe dose of flu.

“Thank you, Corporal.”

“You’re welcome, sir.”

“Where are Mackinson and Ellis?”

“Asleep, sir. I’ve just relieved Ellis on stag. Thought a brew would go down well. Didn’t mean to wake you.”

“That’s OK. You lads did well today.”

“Gave the Sovs a kicking, and that’s no mistake, sir.”

“We did, but it’s not over yet.”

“Do you think we might actually win, sir? I just want to go home.”

“Thinking of your wife and daughter, Patsy?”

Patsy smiled at the use of his nickname. “Yes, when I’m not shitting myself. What the hell is that?” Exclaimed Patsy looking skyward.

Dusk suddenly turned to daylight. Alex thrust Patsy’s head down and tucked his own into his chest as the sky got brighter and brighter. The flare eventually died down, and both looked back through the gap in the trees behind them. The ground shook, and the noise of the detonation eventually reached them. Towards the west, a glowing plume was slowly rising higher and higher; a plume they both recognised, something they had seen in history books, magazines and on TV documentaries. They never ever thought they would see one at first-hand.

“Oh God,” Alex groaned. “Gas! Gas! Gas!”

1900, 11 JULY 1984. COMBAT TEAM DELTA, ROYAL HUSSARS, 7TH ARMOURED BRIGADE, 1ST ARMOURED DIVISION. SOUTH OF REHBURG-LOCCUM, WEST GERMANY.

THE BLUE EFFECT +1 DAY

The tanks of Combat Team Delta were dispersed around the small forest south of Locum. They couldn’t go any further east until they had refuelled and rearmed. They had enough of both to defend their current position, but not enough to advance any further. They had met stiff resistance while fighting against the encircled Soviet division, who fought ferociously. It was only the enemy running out of ammunition and fuel before the 7th Armoured and 2nd US Brigade did that secured the allies a victory. But now across the Weser, they would have to wait before they could move any further forward in support of 22nd Armoured.

They would never know what happened next. Positioned 100 metres from the centre of the nuclear air burst, the crews outside and inside their tanks, along with the ordnance and equipment, out to a radius of 300 metres were instantly vaporised as temperatures reached 6,000 degrees. The trees that had been providing them with cover from the enemy swayed away from the direction of the blast, stripped, their foliage vaporised, before springing back, some crashing to the ground in flames. The tarnished tree trunks that remained were blackened, smouldering stalks, like rotten, broken teeth. Light armoured vehicles were flipped over; soft-skinned vehicles likewise, quickly bursting into flames.

*

The corporal, zipping up his fly as he returned to his tank twenty metres away, just inside the edge of the forest, looked at the flash, the sky, the air, the space in front of him losing all colour: just white, blindingly white. But only for a fraction of a second as the rapidly increasing fireball engulfed him, vaporising skin, flesh and then bone. He felt nothing. He just didn’t exist any more. A modern-day crematorium furnace generates a heat of 1,000 degrees Centigrade to burn a body and ensure the disintegration of a corpse. The bodies of soldiers and civilians engulfed in the nuclear fireball didn’t just disintegrate: in the 6,000-degree temperatures, they were vaporised.

Out to a kilometre, the air blast demolished most buildings, destroyed soft-skinned vehicles and killed all those that weren’t protected by solid cover. Even out to three kilometres, soldiers and civilians alike suffered injuries that in many cases were fatal. If the fireball and blast hadn’t killed Lieutenant Barrett and his crew, the rest of his squadron and elements of his regiment, the 70 Gy radiation dose would soon see to it, within hours or, at the most, a couple of weeks.

Three kilometres away, a unit of men from the Royal Signals, setting up a new relay station to ensure communication could be maintained for the Brigade to initiate its next advance, did not escape. A captain ran as fast as he could towards the large paddock alongside the farmhouse, his NBC suit smouldering, diving onto the grass, rolling his body over and over, smothering any potential flames. He put his red-blistered hand to his face and screamed as swollen flesh met swollen flesh. The other soldiers caught out in the open also suffered. A sergeant, his body facing the arc of the blast, his chest and legs saved by his Noddy-suit, felt the flesh on his hands and face begin to break down. He felt no pain; there were no nerves left to feel the pain with. Even those three and a half kilometres away, suffered third-degree burns. If there was one positive, as a consequence of it being an airburst, the level of fallout would be a minimised.

But 1,000 soldiers and civilians had just died, with the estimated number of casualties in the region of over 6,000. The Royal Hussars Regiment, along with its logistics support, signallers, drivers, military police, gunners, ceased to exist as a fighting force.

Civilians who were away from shelter, without the protection of NBC suits, had no chance. Their blackened bodies could be seen lying around the area for days. Those that survived would be collected, eventually, but the facilities just didn’t exist to treat so many people.

2000, 11 JULY 1984. HQ, 2ND BATTALION, ROYAL GREEN JACKETS, 11TH ARMOURED BRIGADE, 4TH ARMOURED DIVISION. BEHRENSEN, WEST GERMANY.

THE BLUE EFFECT +1 DAY

“You wanted me, sir?” the CSM asked as he stood at the entrance to the OC’s penthouse tagged on the back of the OC’s 432.

“Yes, come in, CSM.”

He handed Tobi Saunders the sheet of paper with the notes the company signaller had made.

Battle Group RGJ.

CO and OC eyes only.

Six 50-kiloton tactical nuclear strikes occurred at the following locations:

Bassum

Asendorf

Rehburg-Loccum

Brakel

Schloss Steinau

Schlotten

Units to disperse. Prepare for additional strikes.

“The flashes and noise were a bit of a giveaway, sir. Same number of strikes we launched. What the hell happens now?”

“Only God can answer that one, CSM. But we need to get the Company dispersed and dug in deep.”

“Any news on Lieutenant Russell sir?”

“Nothing. And air-recce tells us the Soviets hold the crossroads.

C
hapter 39

0
830, 12 JULY 1984. 12TH MECHANISED DIVISION, 1ST POLISH ARMEE. TOSTEDT, WEST GERMANY.

THE BLUE EFFECT +2 DAYS

Gunter Keortig pulled his wife close to him as they gazed through the bedroom window of their house on Bremer Strasse. For the last twelve hours, there had been a steady stream of Polish soldiers moving east through the town of Tostedt. It reminded him of the war, the Second World War, when he as part of the Wehrmacht had traipsed along roads in a similar manner to this. Not defeated, but on the run. The Polish army was using as many vehicles as it could acquire in order to get their men back home. The baker across the road had been forced to surrender his small van. It was then used to carry wounded soldiers. Keortig and his wife had watched as the van was loaded with the injured, their faces and bodies covered with horrific burns. Others they had seen looked to be well, in that there were no visible wounds, but they would suddenly collapse onto the road, heaving their guts up until there was nothing left, then retching some more.

On one occasion, there had been a confrontation right outside the house. A Soviet unit, the maroon flashes indicating Soviet Internal Security, MVD, had clashed with a Polish unit. A Polish captain and Soviet major, along with half a dozen men, had been killed, the Soviet unit withdrawing after being threatened by an ever increasing number of Polish infantry supported by a T-54 tank. After the clash, the column continued its move east.

0915, 12 JULY 1984. MOTOR-SCHUTZ REGIMENT, 8TH MOTOR-SCHUTZ DIVISION, 5TH GERMAN ARMY. AREA OF SCHALKOLZ, WEST GERMANY.

THE BLUE EFFECT +2 DAYS

“What is wrong with your men, Oberst Keller? We had the enemy on the run, and a crossing of the River Eider was wide open to us. Now, we are having to get ready to defend what we’ve already taken!”

“My orders, Colonel Gachev, are to hold position until further notice. In the meantime, my men will assist our
Kameraden
who were hit by the nuclear strike.”

Colonel Gachev slammed his fist on the bonnet of the UAZ Jeep causing his driver to jerk awake. “Some of my men were caught in it as well, Comrade Oberst. We’ve hit back, and now is the time to finish them off.”

“I’m sorry, I have my orders.”

“You are under the command of the Northern Group of Forces, as am I.”

“I take my orders from Generalmajor Urner, Colonel.”

“
Chush’ sobach’ya!
You take your orders from the Motherland!”

Oberst Keller stared into the eyes of the Soviet officer. “That is about to change, Comrade Colonel,” he said under his breath. “I take orders from my General.”

With that, the Oberst stormed off, his orders to assist with the repatriation of as many wounded as possible. Many of them were suffering from major trauma injuries, third-degree burns and radiation sickness. One thing he hadn’t informed the Soviet colonel about was the second set of orders he’d received, and were tucked away in his pocket.

Top Secret

To: Oberst Keller

Command: 8th Motor-Schutz Regiment

From: Generalmajor Urner

Command: 8th Motor-Schutz Division, 5th German Army

1. Poland: Unrest in Poland. Polish Solidarnosc has called for its 10-million members to initiate a period of civil unrest. Martial law has been declared, but the army are taking no action. Poland is in a state of paralysis.

2. Czechoslovakia: A second uprising is in progress in Czechoslovakia. The Czech army is withdrawing troops from Germany to ensure its internal security and protect its borders.

3. German Democratic Republic: Major discord within our borders. Severe backlash over casualties to National Volksarmee after nuclear strikes. Also street protests over the civilian casualties in the Federal Republic of Germany after the Soviet nuclear response.

Orders:

1. Cease all hostilities against NATO forces unless in self-defence.

2. Evacuate all military casualties to the German Democratic Republic urgently.

3. Prepare defence against Soviet military intrusion.

4. Take no further orders from Soviet Military Commanders.

5. Prepare withdrawal of all National Volksarmee forces.

Urner

Generalmajor

1015, 12 JULY 1984. MINISTERIUM FUR STAATSSICHERHEIT, MFS STATE PRISON, HOHENSCHONHAUSEN, EAST BERLIN.

THE BLUE EFFECT +2 DAYS

Bradley was back in the small room that had become familiar to him during his time spent being questioned by his interrogator. The man was sitting in front of him now, but the occasion was very different. In the last four hours, he had been allowed to shower and his uniform had been returned, tatty but cleaned and pressed. A uniformed doctor had also treated his wounds. A full plate of ham and pickled cabbage had been given to him to eat but after swallowing half; he brought it all back up. They’d helped him to clean himself up; then had given him some dark bread until his stomach was capable again of digesting anything more adventurous.

“Well, Mr Bradley.” The major pushed a cup towards his captive. “I have been able to acquire some tea for you. Probably not as good as you have perhaps been used to, but tea all the same. I will stick with my coffee.”

Bradley didn’t move.

“Go on, take it. No tricks this time. Only tea.” He smiled.

Bradley reached out and picked up the cup. There was no milk, but his first sip tasted like elixir.

“Good, good. That’s more like it.” There was a pause and then the major leant in towards him. “Events have moved very quickly in the last couple of days.”

“24388749, Bradley Reynolds, Sergeant, Royal Corps of Transport.”

“Ha, ha, ha,” laughed the MfS major. “No need for that, Mr Bradley. Those days are over. You are still in our custody, but you are to be released soon.”

Bradley’s mind raced, but he kept control of his emotions. He thought back to his R2I training and the tricks that were played on him to gather information. An interrogator posing as a Red Cross representative, asking him to sign documents to prove to his family that he was alive. Tricks.
Is this a trick?
He thought. He was still at Hohenschonhausen, the MfS prison, a prison used by Ministry of State Security.

“Herr Bradley. Truly. Your government know we have you in custody, and your exchange is being organised as we sit here with our drinks and chat. So, please relax.”

“24388749, Bradley Reynolds, Sergeant, Royal Corps of Transport.”

The major leant back in his seat and lit a cigarette. “I understand, Sergeant Reynolds. My men will take you to a room with a bed where you can get some sleep. As soon as an exchange has been arranged, I will call for you again. Good day to you, Sergeant.”

1130, 13 JULY 1984. THE KREMLIN.

THE BLUE EFFECT +3 DAYS

General Secretary Baskov crashed down into his low-backed leather armchair, shocked at the latest news from the battlefields of West Germany. “Comrade Aleksandrov, tell me this news is false.”

The head of the KGB, the
Komitet Gosudarstvennoy Bezopasnosti,
the Committee for State Security, probably the second most powerful man in the Soviet Union, Yuri Aleksandrov, nodded his head. “It is true, Comrade General Secretary. The Polish army is pulling back in both the north and south, and the
National Volksarmee
is doing the same.”

“Our forces are holding?” Baskov asked, fiddling with his favourite toy: a model of an artillery piece.

“Yes, Comrade Secretary, 2nd Guards Tank Army and 20th Guards Army are consolidating along with the divisions of the Northern Army, but they have had to pull back to Hamburg and east of Hanover as they are under threat from the north and the west. The West German Army, along with the US III Corps, is on their heels. The British are consolidating, but Intelligence tells me that they are getting ready to push for and cross the River Leine. 3rd Shock Army no longer exists.”

“Reinforcements?”

“Yes, the Military Districts are starting fill the gaps. Further south, it is stalemate, but the French forces are building up, and more and more Americans are being shipped in.”

Baskov stroked the metal pin in the shape of a Soviet flag on the left lapel of his grey suit. “We must attack again, Yuri.” The squarish, jowly face smiled. “We have a powerful army still. Tactical nuclear weapons.”

“But not the ammunition and supplies to support it, Comrade Secretary.”

“What, you want to sue for peace, give up on the ground we’ve taken?”

“Let me pour a drink, Comrade Secretary.”

“Yes, yes, if you must.”

Aleksandrov proceeded to pour two cups of coffee from the decorated slender coffee pot, his hand passing over his Politburo leader’s drink, the white powder from his ring masked as he added sugar to the Soviet leader’s china cup. He placed the cup and saucer in front of Baskov who took a long drink from the now cooled coffee.

Aleksandrov passed across the plate of biscuits. Baskov’s hand was shaking as he went to pick one for himself. His face reddened as the batrachotoxin quickly took effect. Found on the skin of the very small poison dart frog, the toxin attacked the General Secretary’s nervous system, opening the sodium channels, paralysing the large man, and shutting down his body’s systems. Baskov’s eyes widened as he fell forward out of his chair, collapsing onto the floor in a heap. A few twitches and he was dead.

Aleksandrov called out, and Baskov’s secretary opened the door letting Marshal Obraztsov and Marshal Dolzhikov into the room.

“Comrade Baskov is unwell, Marshall Obraztsov. Please have him taken for treatment.”

“Yes, Comrade General Secretary, straightaway.”

“Marshall Dolzhikov.”

“Yes, Comrade General Secretary.”

“Let’s get down to business. We need to initiate peace talks and to find away of getting the Motherland out of this mess.”